


Clandestin

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, prerevolutionary France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is the son of a French Lord, he's destined to live his fathers life when he'd much rather live like the people in his books. In any case he'd much rather live like his fencing instructor Dean Winchester. What he doesn't know is that Dean is a criminal and a thief as well as an excellent swordsman. So is Gabriel Tricherie for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clandestin

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are therefore my own!  
> Please enjoy however~

The young boy looked over his shoulder, tensing up for a brief second as he waited for silence to fall over the sleeping castle again. Every bare movement from the faintest snore to the barest movement made the big house creek.

Everyone was asleep, from the servants to the lords; everyone was resting except the little boy. The little boy, hidden under the pristine white sheets of his bed carefully cradled his treasure. The candle, well protected by the glass around it and well away from anything flammable, casted a golden light over the smooth virgin pages of the boy’s notebook. The ink bottle was hazardously placed on the pillow, precariously tilted to the left threatening to spill it’s dark contents all over the white fabric.

The boy starred at the blank page in front of him, biting his lower lip in contemplation. He pondered over his thoughts for a while, going through his various ideas and sources of inspiration, trying to pick one. There was so much he wanted to do and so little time to write it in. AA few more quiet moments and he finally decided what he was going to do.

He gently dipped the tip of his quill in the ink bottle, wiping away the excess ink on the border of the bottle. He gently placed the tip of the quill on the paper, starting his elegantly styled letter. His calligraphy was that of a true gentleman, but his writing was far from that.

The boy knew he would get in trouble if anyone caught him, he knew the punishment would be severe and merciless. Honestly the first few times had been pretty terrifying, the first few times he would just sit awake in the middle of the night, submerged in complete darkness, clutching his notebook in his hands and praying to have the courage to open it. When he finally opened it, he didn’t get farther than that for a whole week. He had opened it and just starred at the blank page that seemed to reflect the little light that streamed in from the window.

When he finally got the ink and quill and managed to sneak it into bed with him, he didn’t even have the courage to open the ink bottle. Again another week past and he managed to open the bottle without dying from all the stress his actions were giving him.

But once he started writing, once he wrote the first word, he didn’t stop. He kept on going, all nervousness and stress gone. It was as if he had been wrapped up in a spell of calm and courage. For once he felt like he was in control of something, for once he felt like he was good at something. He could do anything in the confines of his bedroom with a notebook and a quill.

He could never have imagined the amount of power and freedom writing could give him. At the beginning he had been so scared and he couldn’t help but regret the amount of time he had spent fearing the consequences of his action. Nothing bad had happened and nothing bad would happen. Everyone was asleep, everything was fine.

Or at least it was until he got caught.

“Chuck?!” a dreadfully familiar voice barked from his door. The blood drained from the boy’s face, his heart almost stopped and he felt his limbs freeze over and tense. He looked up slowly, the reality of what was happening slowly settling on his chest. His heart felt like it had climbed up to his throat and was beating away frantically.

There in the doorway, his uncle stood clad in his nightgown. Unfortunately his ridiculous attire in no way affected his evil ad menacing demeanour and didn’t make Chuck in the slightest bit better.  His uncle’s nostrils were flared and his veins almost popping out in rage, fists balled up by his sides in a few short strides he found himself next to Chuck.

Everything went by like a blur then.

The boy vaguely remembered the Lord’s words, the servant’s shouts, or perhaps they were his own. He could almost make out the hand that clamped down on his neck and the stick that beat him. The pain, he could remember the pain. He could remember exactly where he had been hit; he could remember exactly how hard he was hit.

And now he remembered why he was so scared at the beginning. Now he remembered why he was so terrified of being caught at the beginning. This was a pretty little reminder, a painful and effective reminder.

“Gentlemen do not indulge themselves in frivolities like this Chuck.” his uncle snarled, looking down at the small bloody boy on the floor. “One day you will come to realise this. Until such a time as you do, you will do good in remembering this lesson.” And with a last disgusted look he was off, leaving his nephew to whimper alone on the cold wooden floor.

 

 

“ _Monsieur_?” the small red headed girl quipped from the door, patiently waiting for a response, a pile of large hefty books precariously stacked in her arms.

The tall man, who sat at his dark oak desk clad in his black robes, hastily got up to greet the maid. “Anna!” he beamed to her, quickly closing the space that separated them with two strides of his long legs. “Are these the books Balthazar sent?” he asked, relieving the small maid from her heavy package.

“Yes _monsieur_.” She answered with a small nod, making it quite clear she wasn’t here for conversation. Sam nodded back, and dismissed her with a smile. Anna was usually very talkative and open, but she was a maid in this place and sometimes the work load was just too important to ignore, even for a few minutes.

Sam gently placed the pile of books on his desk, eyeing them over with glee. Balthazar was a Lord with a great amount of connections and influence, much more than a French Lord should have under this regime. Ye the fact still stood, if you were in his good graces you were blessed and is it happened the younger Winchester was very much in the Lord’s good graces.

The books he had in front of him were banned novels, illegal to print and sell, but not illegal to own. Sam didn’t know where he the Lord had gotten them, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Right now was, unfortunately, not the best time to be reading books judging by the pile of papers that needed his approval.

Sighing in disdain, he sat at his desk, grabbing the first paper on the stack and started treating it. All of this was standard procedure, boring and repetitive, but essential. The first few papers were about mundane things concerning the parks along the river and bars, so mind blowingly simple Sam didn’t give them much thought.

The next few papers had the royal seal on them however, and caught the Winchesters attention quickly. There were five in total, a startling amount considering there had been no major incident lately; which left Sam with the conclusion that the king was getting greedy again.

His suspicions were confirmed once he started reading. Tax raises.

Sam would through them quickly, then again, this time paying better attention to the details and praying to god he could find a loop hole. He could practically hear his sanity run away screaming in terror every time he re-read the royal documents. He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time, massaging his temples in an attempt to calm down his raging mind and holding himself back from screaming bloody murder and death to the king.

“Judging by the pompous paper and the reaction to said pompous paper I’d say the king has gone and done something stupid again… Am I right?”

Sam looked up in surprise at the man in the doorway. He was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and the cheekiest smirk on his lips. He was short, had light brown hair, and was absolutely infuriatingly attractive. What made it even worse was the fact that he _knew_ it too.

“Gabriel.” Sam greeted the older man drily. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your bookshop?” he asked, feigning disinterest all while busying himself organising his papers and neatly placing them in a pile on his desk.

“I closed up early.” He answered, still smirking, pushing himself off the door frame and sauntering over to the Winchester’s desk. Sam tried hiding the way his heart sped up, but as fate would have it the smaller man noticed his reaction regardless. “Besides can’t a man visit his _friend_ without justifying his motives?”

Sam would have said something about how Gabriel made it sound like maybe he _should_ be questioning the older man’s motives and that maybe he should work on making everything he says sound less suggestive. He _would_ have said something, but his brain drew up a blank when Gabriel ghosted the tips of his fingers over Sam’s hand.

“Cat got your tongue Sammy?” the small man teased, moving along the desk, getting worryingly closer to the Winchester. “Or are you just speechless in my presence?”

Sam swallowed, trying to get rid of the ball that had just formed in his throat. He knew full well what would happen if he got caught, he knew full well he should be telling Gabriel to go stick if where the sun doesn’t shine and maybe go seek some professional help. He also knew that if the small man kept playing with his hand like that he would most likely agree to anything he proposed without question.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how Sam looked at it, Gabriel’s attention was caught by the royal documents.  A single sweep with the man’s golden eyes of the official royal documents and all the flirty seductiveness was gone, replaced by annoyed frustration. Exactly the same annoyed frustration Sam had previously been experiencing.

“Again?!” Gabriel groaned, snatching up the parchment despite Sam’s best efforts. “Freaking again? I mean I knew the king did something stupid but this is just pushing it.” He complained, gaping as he read the document. Sam gave up trying to regain the document and just slumped in his chair waiting for the book shop owner to finish reading.

“They’re going to kill him.” The short man stated, throwing the parchment back on the pile carelessly in resignation.

“ _I’m_ going to kill him.” Sam grumbled, grabbing the much disputed document and placing it correctly on the table. He expected some sort of witty answer from the older man, or maybe some sound of agreement, so he was surprised when he heard nothing.

He looked up at Gabriel and saw a dead serious expression that he had never seen on the man before. It had always been flirty or joking, Sam realised he had never seen Gabriel be serious. And it kind of scared him.

“You should keep that kind of thing to yourself Sam. You never know who might be listening.” He said, all humour and flirtiness gone from his tone.

“Yeah… I’ll remember that…” Sam murmured, looking away in embarrassment at having openly admitting to wanting to murder the king of France.

“Well!” Gabriel exclaimed, startling Sam. “I better get going. People to see, things to do. The day just does not have enough time for my activities. See you later Sammy~” Gabriel skipped to the door, the moment completely ruined. It was as if it hadn’t even happened.

“Ummm… Okay?” Sam, confused, attempted to sound unfazed. Just before leaving the room however Gabriel paused, looking back at Sam.

“But seriously Sam; be careful. I wouldn’t want ya to get in trouble…”

And with those worrying last words Gabriel left, just as quickly as he had arrived.

 

 

 

“ _En garde!”_ the broad shouldered man barked, lunging forwards with his wooden sword.

 The boy in front of him let out a strangled yelp, dropping his own wooden stick. It hit the ground with a loud clatter and before he could duck and pick it up, the man lift his fake weapon with an elegant gesture.  The tip of the wooden sword found itself pressed against the boy’s throat, applying enough pressure to make its presence known.

They stayed there paralyzed and in silence; the boy was breathing heavily, the man holding himself straight and gracefully, perfectly at ease and waiting for his student to catch his breath.

“You didn’t practice.” The man finally said lowering the fake weapon and crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you to practice.” He reminded his pupil, his tone grave and reproaching.

“Fighting is hard…” the boy whined, his brows knitting together and his lips forming a pout.

“Chuck…” the man warned the boy, looking down at him with a scowl.

“Dean!” the boy persisted in his whining, despite his teacher’s warning.

“Your father paid me to teach you how to defend yourself.” The swordsman sighed, having had this exact conversation over a hundred times with his student. “So… defend yourself!” He threw his own sword for Chuck to catch, ducking to grab the other stick that had been left on the ground.

Luckily his student was sharp enough to catch the sword without dropping it, and was in position fast enough. They exchanged two blows, not strong enough to make any noise, but good enough considering was horrible at swordplay. Unfortunately two blows were as far as they had ever gotten, and we’re ever going to get apparently.

“Chuck…”

“It’s not my fault! I’m horrible at this! I mean why should I defend myself? Why would anyone want to attack me?” the boy argued, waving his skinny arms around in despair. He looked like a chicken whose head had been cut off, running around flapping it’s wings.

“Are you kidding?” Dean looked over Chuck with a critical eye. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?” Chuck reddened visibly, looking down at the ground and shuffling his feet. Dean huffed, sympathy washing over him. “Come on kid… let’s go get something to eat.”

They made their way outside the court yard while Dean pointed out Chuck’s various mistakes and corrected them, even giving tips on how to improve his swordsmanship all while explaining all the finer points of swords play. The boy trailed next to the man, taking in everything that was being said with barely hidden fascination.

As much as Chuck complained about it, the boy found himself enjoying his fencing lessons. He particularly likes it when Dean would demonstrate the moves for him, his movements were always strong and precise in a way only he knew how to be. It reminded him of the stories his wet nurse had told him as a child; stories of knights, gentlemen, and daring battles. The boy sometimes let his mind wander, pitting Dean against an imaginary opponent. Of course his teacher always won, because he was the best swords master in all of France, and of course he always rescued the damsel in distress, because Dean was anything if not a ladies’ man.

“Oh no.” Dean snapped him out of his reverie, grabbing the small boy by his shoulder in a stern grip.

“What?” Chuck blurted out perplexed.

“No no no no no no _no_.” his teacher kept on mumbling, still holding onto Chuck.

“ _What_?” the boy repeated still confused.

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The ‘the moment I get my hand on some parchment and a quill I’m going to start writing’ look.” Dean scowled, finally letting go of his student in favor of crossing his arms over his chest. Chuck reddened visibly, looking down at his feet.

Dean was about to say something, probably to make it up to Chuck in some small way, but he was interrupted by the entrance of Raphael, the boy’s uncle.

“ _Monsieur Le Comte_.” Dean nodded in greeting, standing rigidly. Chuck also tensed up, but stayed slouched forward, scared that any movement would attract any attention from his uncle.

The lord looked them over cynically, a sneer forming on his lips: “Surely your lesson cannot be over. “He drawled in his infuriating posh accent. The small boy was used to it, he had grown up with it, Dean however did not, and so found it rather difficult not to mock the Lords with it.

“We’ve been practicing for four hours straight, _Monsieur_.” Dean said, his expression very careful, fists clenched at his sides.

“Hm… Very Well.” He nodded curtly at Dean, turning his unwanted attention at Chuck. “Get yourself ready boy, we are going to the _De Lavoisier_ ’s castle for tea and I have no intention to be late. You have an hour to get ready so don’t waste any time with your useless fantasies. I don’t want to see a single stain of ink on your clothes young man! Am I understood?”

“Yes _Monsieur_ …” Chuck mumbled, already dreading his afternoon and wondering how he was going to survive.

“Winchester.” Raphael snapped back to Dean. “Your services are no longer required for the day, you are dismissed.” Dean nodded, sending his student a secret sympathetic smile as he turned to leave.

Chuck sighed, wondering how it would be like to be Dean.

 

 

 

Dean peered over the edges of the tree branches, spotting the carriage that was slowly making its way towards him. He readjusted the sword at his waist and fastened the mask concealing his identity. The closer the carriage got to his hiding place, the more adrenalin pumped through his veins.

His night time activities were his favorite of the whole day. Granted they weren’t the most legal thing in the world, they filled him with a sense of justice and right. It wasn’t as if he ever kept the money he stole. He always gave it to some poor farmer or beggar on the street. The noble class wouldn’t miss a few gold coins, and quite a bit of jewelry.

When the carriage was right underneath him, because he was perched on the branches of some trees, he jumped on the driver, knocking him out and throwing him to the side of the road. The nobles inside complained at the noise and told their driver to shut up and go faster. Dean frowned, taking delight in the way the rich pompous ass holes screamed when he stopped the carriage and opened the door.

“Give me all your money and jewelry and I’ll consider not hurting you.” He ordered, pointing his sword and the closest person there, which happened to be the old fat lady. They tried complaining, but a sharp glare and a flick of his wrist shut them up quickly.

He would never actually hurt anyone, he wasn’t evil, but they never called him on his massive bluff and even if they did Dean was still holding a sword and wasn’t scared of using it.

Once he received all their money, he thanked them earning a glare and quite a few insults as he disappeared into the shadows. He walked for a bit, stopping by his night black horse, Impala. He mounted her quickly, urging her to run as fast as she could.

As he sped by the countryside, he looked around for a particularly shabby cottage he had seen earlier that day. The family living in it had triplets and they were all sick all at once, and had no way of paying for a doctor to come check on them.

He found it rather quickly, the lights still on as the mother tried to tend to her three wailing sons. Dean smiled in sympathy, leaving the pouch of gold coins at their doorstep. He knocked twice, turning on his heel the minute he heard the father getting up to go check the door.

By the time the man opened the door, Dean was already hidden behind some bushes. The father looked around, picking up the pouch and looking inside curiously. His cry of joy and relief was enough to make Dean happy for the rest of the week.

To see these people so happy was all Dean could ask for, and this way he was reminded why he went out every night and risked his life and honour. He did it for them.

 

 

 

Chuck plopped down on the fountain edge, all but curling up into a little ball. His head dipped down between his shoulder’s as he tried not to whimper in frustration. Dean could see the tears forming in the corner of his eyes as well as the constant lip biting Chuck had been doing since the beginning of his lesson.

Dean sighed, knowing full well the cause of the boy’s dreary mood. The kid couldn’t quite hide the bruises blossoming under his shirt or stop himself every time he flinched when he accidentally bumped into something. The swordsman couldn’t call off today’s lesson, Raphael wouldn’t allow it. It hurt him seeing the kid so down, and made him mad that the vermin of a lord would even dare lay a finger on the boy.

Unfortunately he was in no way able to talk to Chuck about it; he didn’t like talking about feelings. Besides he had no idea what to say to the kid, he couldn’t exactly relate to him either. He did feel an ache in his chest however, he really liked the boy, and he cared for him. So he did whatever was in his power to make him feel better.

Dean saw a short man from the corner of his eye making his way to the kitchen door, probably ready to leave through the back door; he had seen him earlier that day at the entrance of the Lord’s house with a box full of manuscripts. He made a snap decision then, swirling around and speaking up.

“Stranger!” the swordsman called out, getting the man’s attention. “What’s your name?”

The stranger visibly blinked in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up as he studied Dean from head to toe. “Gabriel…” he answered in a pleasant voice. “Gabriel Tricherie.” He added as an afterthought.

“Are you familiar with the blade?” Dean showed his sword in emphasis, hopeful that the man would happen to know how to sword fight for Chuck’s sake. The short man smirked then, his dark golden eyes holding a sort of mischievous gleam. The swordsman dismissed it as a trick of the light.

“I am.” He answered, smirk still firmly in place.

“Well then would you like to spar?” Dean offered. “My student here needs some motivation.”  Chuck reddened as Gabriel’s eyes shot a knowing look at him, curving his back and trying to disappear into the stone wall.

“I usually make it a point to know the name of my opponent when I spar.” The short man had gotten closer to the training grounds and now found himself only a short distance from Dean. “Although I don’t often get to find out. Circumstances and such…” Gabriel commented, drawing a sword form the rack.

Dean noted it wasn’t one of the wooden ones; it appeared Chuck was in for a real treat. Discarding his useless mock weapon, he drew his own sword from his waist with a long sound of steel. The two opponents were already circling each other, subconsciously analysing each other’s movements and preparing for the fight.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” the swordsman said, holding his sword low to the ground. “And it will be a pleasure to fight with you.” Something gleamed in the shorter man’s eyes again, and this time it most certainly was not a trick of the light.

“Well then Winchester… _En garde_!!”

Gabriel lunged at Dean quickly, aiming low and making it hard for the swordsman to block the jab. Fortunately he managed to block it with enough force to send his opponent’s sword veering to the side, which in turn would leave a pretty little opening for Dean to take advantage of and end the duel disappointingly fast.

Gabriel however let his sword carry on its course instead of bringing it back, twirling around in a speed Dean would never have attributed to the small man, to strike Dean with force using the spin’s momentum. 

At first the other man’s continual spins were surprising; he looked like a dancer following a furious beat of clashing swords. He should have by all means looked ridiculous, but the precision of his blows and the deadliness of them were enough to show Dean he was against a man who knew what he was doing.

They continued sparing and it was soon made abundantly clear that if Dean didn’t attack, he would lose this battle. Gabriel was using his speed and agility as well as the momentum from his spins in a way that hammered at Dean’s defenses relentlessly, giving absolutely no time for Dean to retaliate. The swordsman knew his victories came from drawing at his strength and aggression, he had to press Gabriel forward or he would lose.

Once he saw an opening, Dean jabbed his sword at Gabriel using all the strength he had at that awkward angle. He then followed it by two more blows, one to the side and the other to his legs. The short man had barely managed to block all three attacks, visibly uncomfortable in the new direction the fight seemed to be taking. Gabriel wasn’t able to move as much as before, too busy defending himself from the relentless blows. Still, the man knew full well what he was doing and didn’t let a single blow reach its target.

The short managed to tip the scale back however, going back to their previous dance. Dean would have none of that though, forcing them back yet again with much more ease than he had the first time. Both men were determined to win, and both were stubborn enough to keep pushing forward.

At one point, after what seemed like hours, Gabriel parried off Dean’s sword twirling around. But instead of trying to hit Dean, he jumped a few feet away from his opponent. They were both breathing hard, tired from their long spar, but still had their swords raised at each other.

“It seems we’re at a stale mate Winchester…” Gabriel heaved, still posed and tense, ready to pounce at Dean and resume their frantic dance.

“It  seems so…” the swordsman nodded, slowly lowering his sword as the shorter man mirrored him. Gabriel sighed, putting away the sword where he had found it.

Dean put his own sword back in its sheath and taking a few steps towards Gabriel. “It was a good match.” He said offering his hand for his opponent to shake.

“It was wasn’t it?” Gabriel confirmed with a nod, taking Dean’s hand and giving it a tight firm shake.

“That. Was. Incredible.”

Dean turned, having completely forgotten about his student. Chuck stood mouth open and eyes wide, starring at the two men in awe and admiration. He looked just about ready to burst from excitement.

Gabriel let out a good natured laugh as Dean chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair fondly, happy to the see the boy’s mood improve.

 

 

Chuck sat on the edge of the fountain, trailing his hand over the water humming to himself contently while staring at the cat in his lap. His lesson with Deana and Gabriel had ended a few hours ago leaving him in a happy mood. Then when he got a letter from his uncle explaining he wouldn’t be back home for another day or two, his mood sky-rocketed.

He had spent a whole three hours doing nothing, simply sitting in the living room, lounging about and enjoying the peace and quiet. Then he went down to the servant’s floor, with the blessing of Joshua their head servant, and watched the men and women as they worked.

Shortly after he found a cat he proceeded to chase around for a while, before it warmed up to the boy and followed him everywhere. Chuck asked Joshua about it, the older man answered it was a cat the servants kept around for company when they were working during the night, but that it didn’t have a name or an owner.

The small boy decided to name it, but simply couldn’t find anything appropriate for it. It was a simple grey cat that had a fondness of lying in people’s lap. There was nothing special about it, which was probably why Chuck felt like he should keep it, the cat was like him.

The cat suddenly got up however, jumping off Chuck’s lap and running off into the building through the open doors. The boy let out a cry, running after the cat and calling it, but then again it didn’t exactly have a name so obviously the cat wouldn’t come back.

When he found the little grey cat, he was being pet and scratched by a man dressed in black. He had black hair and pale skin, his long robes simple and dark. He held a leather bound book in his hand and a simple rosary hanging from his neck, that had a band of white across it.

Chuck gasped, recognising the man as belonging to the church. He had never liked the priests his father had invited into their home, hating how they questioned him on the knowledge of the holly text and everything else. The boy wasn’t particularly interested in religion and found the holy book to be rather boring. Besides, religion had caused far too much blood-shed in the past when people could have just gotten along fine.

The religious man looked up, studying the boy with unsettling blue eyes, cocking his head to the side. “Hello.”

“H-h-hello.” Chuck stuttered, looking down unable to maintain eye-contact with the intimidating man.

“Is this your cat?” the dark haired man said, taking a few steps towards the boy, the cat nestled in his arms. Chuck nodded, still not looking up at the man. “Does it have a name?” Chuck shook his head. “Do _you_ have a name?”

“C-c-chuck.” He stuttered yet again. “My name is Chuck.” He added in case his stutter had stopped the man from hearing. He knew the polite thing to do was to ask the man for his own name, but for all the bad experiences Chuck had had with priests, he knew the sure way to get chastised was by speaking.

“I’m not going to convert you if that’s what you’re scared of.” The man assured the small boy. Chuck frowned, looking up at the man despite himself.

“Convert me?” the confusion didn’t last long before the boy realised what kind of priest the man was. “You’re protestant?” Castiel nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. “How did you get in?” Chuck paused for a second, realizing how rude that was. “I-I mean, my father told the servants not to let in any protestants and I don’t want you to get into trouble for sneaking around and I’m sorry…” he rambled in embarrassment.

“Some of the servants are protestant; I thought I would pay them a visit while your father and uncle were away…” the blue eyed man explained, still holding the cat who purred loudly, getting the two boy’s attentions. “Why does it not have a name?”

“I-I couldn’t find one. Besides I only found him today…” the little boy explained, eyeing the cat and wishing he could hold the little furry creature for comfort, he had quickly grown fond of the little thing. The man stared at him for a bit, then handed him the cat.

“Castiel.” He said while Chuck subconsciously started petting the cat the moment it was back in his arms.

“That’s a rubbish name for a cat….” The boy noted, frowning down at the cat and finding the name didn’t fit it at all. He found the name a little too prestigious for the small thing, it didn’t look imposing with it’s big paws and eyes.

“No,” the man chuckled. “Castiel is my name.” Chuck paled and looked back up at the holly man, fumbling to find an excuse and apologise to the man. “But as for the cat…” Castiel cut him off, probably knowing if the boy got a single sound of his mouth he would probably get even more embarrassed.  “We could name it Brigid.”

Chuck contemplated the name for a bit, it had a nice ring to it. The name was obviously foreign, but not evidently so, you couldn’t place exactly where it came from all while giving you a sense of ease.  The boy found he could get used to calling the cat Brigid. “Where does the name come from?” he asked the man, eyeing the cat curiously as it attempted to do… something.

“It’s the pagan god of celestial apparition, children, and animals.” Castiel said, also eyeing the small feline curiously as it kept struggling awkwardly in Chuck’s arms.

“Pagan god?” the boy repeated in surprise, his attention fully pinned on the holly man now. “I thought you were protestant.”

“Just because I am a protestant does not mean I have no educated myself on other’s cultures and religious beliefs.” The holly man explained adjusting his long black robes in slight indignation, as if Chuck had just called him a bigoted exclusivist.

“I didn’t mean to offe-” Chuck’s ushered apology was cut off by Brigid’s small meow of victory. It turned out the cat had wanted to climb onto Chuck’s shoulder, but it’s small size impeded it from doing so. But it had finally prevailed and sat, perched on the boy’s shoulder looking proud of itself.

Castiel chuckled, scratching the newly named cat behind the ears for a bit before turning his attention back to Chuck. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you Chuck, but I must depart before your relatives come home.”

“I won’t tell them anything.” The boy squeaked out as the holly man started towards the door. “I won’t tell them you came…” he added, to make himself perfectly clear. Castiel turned around and smiled at him graciously.

“Thank you Chuck.” He bowed his head, surprising the boy. “Until next time.”

 

 

 

Dean balanced on the branch of a tree, crouched in the bush of leaves hiding in the shadows. From a distance he could see a carriage coming, the horse’s hooves clanking as the metal came in contact with the cobble stone.

He waited patiently, assessing the best way to ambush the carriage to effectively subdue any potential wannabe heroes that might try and fight him off before coming to the conclusion he should take the surprise roof attack. A classic and the most direct approach to stopping the carriage in it’s course.

Once it was underneath him, he quickly jumped off the branch, landing with a loud ‘bang’ on the roof. The driver pulled on the horses reigns, abruptly stopping the carriage, turning around to see what had fallen behind him. Before he could mutter a sound, Dean kicked his face, sliding off the carriage.

He opened the door, expecting to see the faces of scared noblemen or at least some bourgeois. What he didn’t expect to see however at least a dozen soldiers of the king’s guard, all crammed into the carriage booth, armed and ready to fight.

With a curse he quickly got out of the way of the first guard’s sword swing taking his sword and drawing it, already trying t find the most efficient escape route. The guards were efficient though, and had him cornered in a passing moment.

“It seems we’ve caught ourselves one of the bandits men!” the fattest of the soldiers barked out laughing, taking a menacing step towards Dean. “Now let’s make this easier for you, why don’t you put down your weapon and take off your mask.”

“Make me tubby.” Dean mocked him, raising his sword. The fat man turned red in indignation and lunged at Dean rather pathetically. The swordsman sidestepped him rather easily, sending the soldier toppling to the ground with a light smack on the man’s giant rear.

The rest of the group let out shouts of anger as they all got ready to jump at Dean. The later raised his word in preparation for the battle he knew he’s win. Something unexpected happened however, something he would never had seen coming.

“Eleven against one? That seems a bit unfair doesn’t it?” a voice rung out from above them, amidst the dark tree branches. Someone jumped out of them and into the circle of guards, landing gracefully next to Dean.

The stranger was short, he had a cape on as well as a hat with a long feather on it, obscuring his features. Not that he needed the hat; the mysterious man was masked, like Dean was actually. In his hand he held a sword, posed and ready for battle.

“Who are you?” one of the younger guards cried out in confusion.

“Ah, there are many answers to that. But I think the most relevant at this instance is: a, this man’s ally.” The short man motioned at Dean with his free hand. “And b, the person whose going to show you how to really fight.”

The group of soldiers didn’t take this well, as they all drew their swords, menacing. Dean pressed his back to the stranger’s, pushing back all the questions that surfaced in his mind about who the hell the man was. The stranger was there to help, and Dean wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’ll take the ones on the left you take the ones on the right?” he proposed, eyeing the guards wearily.

“Agreed.” The stranger chimed out before jumping at the guards with his sword.

The fight was blurry, but manageable. It was hard to fight off that many people but not impossible. Dean focused on all the soldiers around him, their skill with a blade ranging from good to bad, but never better than his own. From the corner of his eye he could see the masked man fighting off his own batch of soldiers.

He was agile and fast, that much was certain. He had a considerable amount of skill and twirled around in a deadly and rather familiar fashion. Dean wouldn’t give it much more thought however, as his mind was occupied by the guards in front of him.

When Dean hit the last guard over the head with the pommel of his sword, having knocked him to his knees just seconds before, effectively knocking him out. He was still hyper aware of the other man behind him, having fought of the other guards with him. He took a deep breath before turning around to face the masked man all while wondering if he was going to attack Dean.

The stranger was wiping the blood from his sword with one of the soldier’s scarves, quickly and efficiently; obviously the man had experience with shedding blood this way. His feathered hat had been knocked off in the fight, revealing slicked back caramel coloured hair that called at Dean’s memory.

The swordsman observed the masked man, taking note of his shortness, then remembering the peculiar twirls in the man’s fighting style and suddenly Dean knew full well who he was dealing with. The stranger wasn’t a stranger at all it seemed.

“Penny in the air.” The man said mostly to himself, sheathing his sword and turning to Dean crossing his arms on his chest.

“Gabriel?!” Dean finally managed to choke out despite his complete bafflement.

“Penny dropped.” The book shop owner exclaimed with feigned surprise, never missing a chance to poke fun at the taller man and in one swift motion took off his mask revealing his hidden features.

“You little-” Dean started before being rudely interrupted by Gabriel.

“Yes yes Winchester, you can insult me latter but right now we have to get out of here and hide. I know the perfect place and it’s just nearby.”

And honestly Dean had no other choice than to follow the short book shop owner, or burglar, or whatever he was, if only just to get some answers.

 

Dean sat in straight in his seat, eyeing his surrounding wearily. He knew he was safe, in fact he was absolutely certain of it, and he just couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy at _where_ he was. Gabriel had dragged him to a church after their battle with the guards. Not only was Dean Winchester in a church, he was in a _protestant_ church.

“Gabriel this church is probably on the police’s hot spot for places to burn down.” The Winchester hissed, glaring at the short man who was sprawled out on one of the various wooden benches.

“No it isn’t. We bribe the police so they don’t come here.” He explained, rolling his shoulders probably working out the stiffness that had settled on them.

Dean rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair, closing his eyes. When they had burst into the church, the priest had taken one look at both men and ordered them to sit down. He exchanged a few words with Gabriel, and the later handed the dark haired man a parchment, but the Winchester had paid it no mind, far too distracted when the holly man’s eyes met his own and he was engulfed in the bluest blue he had ever seen. Unfortunately the mysterious holly man had disappeared into the back of the church, telling them to relax.

Gabriel had done just that, but Dean had opted on staying vigilant, much to the book shop owner’s annoyance. “Winchester, I’ve been doing this for years. My little brother’s not going to let anyone find us.” The short man huffed, annoyed.

“He’s your brother?” he asked, a little surprised because they looked nothing alike.

“Yup.” Gabriel made an annoying popping sound with his mouth. “We may not share the same name but we share the same blood.”

“What’s his name?”

“Castiel. Castiel Novak.”  Dean wished he could ask more about the brother’s particular situation, but unfortunately he was cut off by someone’s abrupt entrance into the church. Both men immediately reached for their swords, eyes darting to the open doors.

At the entrance of the church stood what could only be a noble man. He was dressed in pale blue attire and showed his short blond hair freely, not like most of his stature and importance.  He was alone, which also caused Dean to be surprised. All in all it was most definitely a lord, but a very strange one.

“Put those things down before you hurt yourself boys.” The Lord said with a rich accent Dean had only heard a few times in his lifetime. “Castiel called for me; something about a kidnapping?”

“Oh Balthazar you little shit you scared us!” Gabriel hissed, putting away his sword and sitting back down on the bench. The lord sent him an unamused look before turning to Dean. His face lit up in recognition and he closed the doors, quickly closing the space between them.

“Ah, you must be Dean Winchester; Sam’s older brother.” The lord said eyeing him rather worryingly by Dean’s standards.

“I am.” He nodded standing up, not wanting the lord to look down at him for some reason. Something about the man was simply infuriating; but then again if he were a lord involved with rather illegal activities, or else he wouldn’t be here at all, he had to be sneaky and sly. “And you are?”

“Balthazar DeLavoisier.” The blond presented himself with a small sarcastic bow that made Dean want to punch the man. “Nice to meet you too.” He added jokingly, poking fun at the Winchester’s lack of courtesy.

And for the second time that night Dean’s angry and not so witty retort was cut short by the entrance of someone in the church’s main room. This time however, Castiel appeared from behind the altar, where he had disappeared behind some sort of hidden door. He immediately got the swordsman’s full attention unbeknownst to him.

“I have grave news…” he said in his deep gravelly voice, only made more somber by the tone he had. “Sam Winchester has been imprisoned.”

Dean blanked.

He had difficulty understanding the holly man’s words, and even when the meaning sunk in their significance eluded him. He couldn’t understand what he meant; or rather he didn’t want to. When the full meaning of what Castiel said sunk into his mind, his vision exploded in red, brought on by his anger and rage. He clenched his fists and opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Gabriel beat him to it.

“What?!” he almost shouted out in despair, sobering Dean up immediately. “They took _Sam_?!” Castiel nodded, his eyes straying from his brother to the Winchester, assessing both their reactions. The only one who didn’t seem affected by this was Balthazar, but of course he wasn’t close to Sam as much as Dean was, which left the question as to why Gabriel was reacting the way he was.

“Yes brother, now please-”

“Where is he?” Gabriel spit out, on his feet and already buckling his sword to his belt. He looked frantic, he looked lost and angry and scared all at once and somewhere in the back of his head Dean knew that if it weren’t for his surprise at the short man he would reacting exactly like that.

“I do not-”

“Where is he?!” the short man all but shouted, grabbing his brother’s dark robes in his fist and growling threateningly. Dean quickly yanked Gabriel off the pastor, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back when he struggled much to Castiel’s surprise.

“Calm down Gabriel!” Dean barked, extremely surprised at himself for being able to keep a cool head, but buried the surprise at the back of his mind. “It doesn’t matter where he is if you’re going to charge in there alone and unprepared! That wouldn’t help Sam in the slightest!” The last sentence seemed to stop the short man’s struggling, as he went slack in Dean’s grip.

“You’re…” he started, head down. “You’re right…” he sighed and slumped in defeat, shrugging off Dean’s grasp and falling back down onto his seat. “Dammit…” he cursed under his breath, eyes still on the floor and full of defeat.

“As fascinating as this all is,” Balthazar intervened, eyeing the three men with an unreadable expression. “What am I doing here?” he asked them, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re not going to help us?” Gabriel growled, glaring up at the Lord with such hate and venom it was a wonder that Balthazar didn’t flinch; he was probably used to it.

“I never said that; I was just wondering what I was summoned for.” He retorted, sending his own impressive glare, although it didn’t hold nearly as much venom as the one he was receiving.

“I summoned you to call in a favour.” Castiel cut in before things got nasty between the two men who kept up their glares. “We just need to know where Sam Winchester is being kept, and if possible we need some help breaking into the prison.”

It surprised Dean how the holly man took charge of the situation and tried to put everyone back in their place. It didn’t seem like he knew the younger Winchester so why e would want to help break him out of prison was beyond Dean, although Gabriel seemed pretty intent on getting him out so maybe Castiel was simply following his older brother.

Balthazar broke his glare away from the short man, who did not do the same, and instead straightened up clearing his throat. “I can do that for you, but only because _you_ asked me. Now, I will most likely find out the moment I get home but for now I can tell you where he most definitely will not be.” He started speaking, pacing lightly. “You can be sure he’s not in _La Bastille_ because if he were I would already know. So obviously the King didn’t send him a _letter de cachet_ else I would also have immediately known about it. Not that the king concerns himself with lowly advocates like Sam. No offense to you brother.” He added quickly for Dean, resuming his previous train of thought. “So if the king didn’t imprison him we can also exclude some other places like _la prison de DeMaisonneuf, la prison royale de Valcours_ …”  Balthazar kept on listing an infinite name of prisons, all holding prisoners the king sent in for no other reason than he could.

The more he heard about his brother’s imprisonment the more Dean felt like running off and finding Sam himself. He had to remain calm however, if only for Gabriel’s sake. He felt sick to the stomach when eh pictured his baby brother in some sort of small cramped and dirty prison cell where he had no room to stretch his enormous legs and where the stench of death was enough to make any grown man quiver.

He sighed, catching a tiny movement from the corner of his eye. There, hiding behind one of the churches’ few plain black curtains was crouched a small figure. Dean recognised it as a child, it wore a cloak concealing any more information the swordsman would have liked to get from it, apart from the fact that the child had it’s arms out and was calling a small grey cat to it.

The child probably sensed the swordsman intense stare on it and looked up, locking eyes with the Winchester. Although they were several feet apart and several dark wooden benches mostly hid the child from Dean’s view, the moment they’re eyes met the swordsman recognised the small crouching figure.

“Chuck!?” he cried in surprise, jumping to his feet to see his student better. The boy froze, the cat finally having leapt into his arms. Everyone else reacted like the small lord had as their eyes fixed on the young boy.

Everything was tense for a second as every single man in the room expected chaos to break through. The small boy though, showing quite a bit of courage stood up from his crouching position and took a few steady steps towards the group of men, his long dark cloak dragging on the floor.

“I-I can explain!” he squeaked, his ears starting to turn into a deep scarlet red. No one spoke, and Chuck took this as an invitation to justify his presence in the impromptu clandestine meeting. “I ran away from my home. Or rather… my uncle tried to beat me again and I decided to run away. I-I couldn’t find Dean at his home and someone told me Sam had been imprisoned during the night. Gabriel was nowhere to be found and the only person left was Castiel…”

Silence fell over the room again, as everyone took in the information the younger boy had given them. Slowly, Gabriel got up eyeing the Chuck warily. “When did you even get here kid?”

“I got here a little before you did,” he piped out, his courage visibly lowering at a fastening rate. “When you got here I panicked and I… I hid behind the curtain with Brigid.” He pet the cat, slightly holding it up to show everyone who he meant by ‘Brigid’.

Balthzar looked at Castiel with a raised brow, Castiel sent Gabriel a hopeless look, and Gabriel shot Dean a questioning one. Sighing, the swordsman realised he would be the one to have to say something to the young boy, who had not missed the exchange of weary looks.

“Listen… Chuck.” Dean started, already regretting having to send his student back home. He really felt sorry for the boy, but he had no place amongst people like them. He was simply in too much danger.

“My father disowned me.” The kid cut in, a mix of sadness and relief coming up to his face not making Dean doubt even for a second of the kid’s sincerity. “I’ve got nowhere to go.” He added faintly, his eyes boring intently into Dean in a way he had never done before.

“You can stay with people who aren’t about to-”

“I know where Sam is!”

“ _Oh_ … Well that changes things.”

 

 

 

Gabriel shuffled nervously in the carriage, readjusting the mask on his face for what felt like the hundredth time. The plan wasn’t foul-proof, but it was the best thing they could come up with at the moment. Besides the only people who were skilled enough to actually go into the prison were Dean and him. Castiel had to stay in the church in case the police decided to come snooping around and Balthazar was busy helping them from the outside.

Then there was Chuck. The boy in question sat in the carriage, looking more determined than Gabriel and most likely Dean had ever seen him. The cat, Brigid, sat on his shoulder nestled cozily in the crook of the boys neck nice and warm from within the hood.

He had only just finished explaining to the two older men how he had been caught writing again but this time by his father. Raphael had also been there, and had proceeded to beat him (Gabriel hadn’t known the pompous lord did that, but didn’t find himself too surprised). Chuck had then stood up for himself and fought back, which led to him getting disowned and kicked out. Dean had responded with a proud smile and a small jab at the boy’s arm, Gabriel ruffled his hair to show he too was proud.

At the moment however, the prison was in sight and everyone in the carriage went silent. They were all going through the plan for the millionth time, but a single mistake could bring it all toppling down. So precision was not an option. Sam’s life was at stake and none of them would ever forgive themselves if they didn’t rescue him.

Once they arrived at the small patch of forest surrounding the prison, Balthazar stopped the carriage, concealing it from view. They all got out of the carriage and assessed the prison. The walls weren’t as tall as they had expected and the lack of guards was painfully obvious.

Balthazar let out a slightly annoyed sigh. “The stupid little shit must have fired half of the guards… Idiot.” He rolled his eyes turning to the little group. “Change of plans, not for you Chuck for those two.” He quickly addressed the boy. “Now, when Chuck goes in, most of the ten guards that are left will be at the front gate. I want you two to climb over the wall over there and start searching for Sam. Trust me there won’t be many guards. When you give me the signal I’ll go get Chuck and I’ll meet you here. And hopefully you’ll have Sam with you…”

When they all agreed on the new, simpler, plan, they went off. Chuck headed towards the gates of the prison, pretending to have gotten lost and trying to find his way home, a distraction of course. Balthazar stayed by the carriage and Dean and Gabriel snuck up behind the prison.

The wall was about ten feet tall at its lowest and at its highest twenty. With one look at the Winchester next to him, Gabriel jumped up on the wall taking hold of one of the rocks. He thanked god for the fingerless gloves he had brought with him, wincing when he saw Dean scrape the palm of his hand leaving a scarlet rip.

Normally the short man would have enquired after the wound, but they had to be silent lest any stray guards passed by and heard them. So he sent his partner in crime a sympathetic look he hoped relayed his concern. Dean grunted dismissively, carrying on in true Winchester fashion.

Once they got to the top, Gabriel took a small peek at the passage that opened in front of him. There were no guards around to his immense relief. Hoisting himself up, he offered his hand to help his partner up. The swordsman accepted it without complaint.

Now all they had to do was look for Sam and try not to get caught by any guards. It sounded simple enough and Gabriel was confident enough to know they would find the young man. They walked around, silent and creeping so as not to wake any of the prisoners.

They had gone down one floor and searched about half of the cells when they encountered the first guards. Gabriel had been about to turn the corner when Dean yanked him back, bringing his uninjured hand to the smaller man’s mouth.

‘Be quiet.’ He mouthed, gesturing at the guards who had just appeared. Luckily for Dean and Gabriel, they were concealed by the shadows that the guard’s torch created. The two men tensed up, not even daring to breathe; but the guards remained oblivious to their presence.

They talked about women, food, more women and then finally about the prisoners. They spoke of the most horrid things, torture and poisoned food to make place for more prisoners. Gabriel could feel the blood drain from his face as he prayed they had done no such thing to Sam.

Finally, the guards kept on walking, as if they hadn’t just passed right next to two criminals who had broken into their prison. The shorter man broke out of Dean’s grasp, picking up their search more fervently. The older Winchester almost had to run to keep up with him, but said nothing.

That’s when he saw him. There was Sam, sprawled out in his tiny cell, shallow breath condensing in the night’s cool hair. The moon’s light hit him perfectly and Gabriel gasped at the sight of him. He was bloodied and bruised, his clothes were ripped and dirty and any open wounds he might have had were most definitely going to get infected if he remained like that.

The short man all but ran to the cell, shaking it violently as if that would open it. “Calm down Gabe…” Dean whispered from behind him. “I pick pocketed one of the guards earlier.” He explained as he fished out a set of keys from him pocket. It took a few tries, but when they finally opened the door he was immediately kneeling next to Sam.

“Sam! Sam, Sammy please tell me you’re okay…” he begged silently, taking one of his big hands in his own, smaller ones. The younger Winchester groaned, shifting slightly and opening his eyes with a groan of pain.

“Gabe?” he said faintly, his voice cracking. The shorter man swallowed back a sob, nodding fervently. Sam smiled at his answer, squeezing the other’s hand slightly. “Don’t cry… I’m not… dead.” He said with great difficulty.

Dean intervened then, knowing that the more time they spent in the cell, the more the chances of a guard passing by were higher. Giving Gabriel a ‘you can talk about this later’ look, he gently hoisted his brother onto his back.

Sam said nothing, just letting himself be carried by his older brother. Gabriel following closely behind, making sure the semi-unconscious giant wasn’t about to topple over onto the ground. He was trying to bite back tears of relief and anger because those guards had hurt _his_ Sam.

He wasn’t sure how they got out of the prison, only being vaguely aware that he had no knock out quite a few guards and kick in quite a few doors when they couldn’t find the right key. They found Chuck and Balthazar exactly where they said they would be, next to the carriage and waiting impatiently.

Chuck let out a surprised yelp and Balthazar’s glare softened when they showed up with Sam, his bruises and scratches extremely visible. They all helped to get the giant into the carriage, arranging themselves around him.

“Gabriel…” Sam chocked out half way to the Castiel’s church as he made a feeble gesture towards the small man. “Gabriel I thought I would never see you again… I-I love you.” He blurted out, his last threads of consciousness slipping through his fingers.

Everything was quiet in the carriage; Chuck glanced between Sam to Dean to Gabriel starting to panic. Dean had his steely gaze on the small man, daring him to do _anything_ to harm his brother. Gabriel however, wasn’t paying any attention o either Chuck or Dean.

He was so happy he had saved Sam, and he was even happier now that they were together and the stupid thick Winchester had finally confessed. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he cradled the younger man’s head in his lap. He pressed their foreheads together, sighing happily at everything finally being right.

 

 

 

Sam sat on the ground, enjoying the pleasant feeling of the warm summer sun hitting his cheeks and sending a wave of content through him. The air around his smelt like nature, pure and crisp and the world around him sung in peace. Well, most of it sang in peace.

“Dean! I’m telling you I can’t fight with a sword!” Chuck complained as he was once again disarmed by the older Winchester. “Can’t I just go and write? I’m much better at it!”

“You have to know how to defend yourself Chuck.” Dean said, throwing the wooden sword back at his student. “Now stop whining and _en garde!_ ” and with a battle cry they were back at it.

Some things never changed, Sam thought as he laid down on the warm grass of Balthazar’s garden. The lord had grown quite fond of their little group after the adventure they shared together, and often invited them to tea or just to stay in his large home for various days on end.

Castiel often sat with him at times like this, but for now he was happy enough watching Chuck and Dean practice swordplay from the edge of the training ground. It was blindingly obvious what the young pastor was actually doing however, and if Sam hadn’t known the young man to be a gentleman he would have told him to stop ogling his brother quite so obviously. As it was however, it was quite adorable.

“I can just _hear_ you thinking Sammy…” a teasing voice came from behind Sam. He answered with a light huff as he closed his eyes, set on relaxing and not falling for the man’s antics. “I was kidding Sammo, _sheesh.”_ He chuckled, laying down next to the much bigger man.

Gabriel was another thing that had changed since his rescue from prison. After the shorter man had found him bloodied and almost dying on the floor. Sam had blacked out and couldn’t remember anything that had happened afterwards.

Castiel had tended to his wounds and offered to recount the events that had led to his rescue. Sam, being the curious man that he was, had accepted, eagerly awaiting the tale. Once the holly man got to the bit where Sam had been found and rescued by Gabriel, he trailed off, before telling him of the love confession.

Sam was, of course, absolutely horrified he had confessed his true feelings for the man in his semi unconscious state and begged Castiel to tell him what happened. It was around that time that Gabriel had showed up, cutting the holly man’s explanation short, and all but jumping on the conscious man showering him with kisses. Before Sam had gotten the time to process what had been going on however, Gabriel had started kissing him with the fervor only a man in love could have.

“ _Mon Dieu_.” Gabriel cursed under his breath, snapping Sam back to reality and away from memory lane. “I said stop. Thinking.” Although his words were harsh his voice was teasing.

Still not opening his eyes, he answered the short man lying next to him. “Yes, well just enjoying pleasant memories.”

“What if I could give you newer and even _more_ pleasant memories Samuel Winchester?” Gabriel purred, his hot breath sending shivers down Sam’s spine, the bastard.

“Then I would say _not in public_ , Gabriel Tricherie.” The younger Winchester chastised, having to draw on every ounce of his self control not to flip over and start kissing Gabriel right there on the grass and draw obscene noises from the smaller man.

Gabriel sighed, falling back down on the grass with a light thud. Opening his eyes, Sam smiled and propped himself up on one shoulder leaning close to Gabriel. He gave the love of his life a sweet, chaste kiss that promised much filthier things in the future. And if Sam didn’t try and hide his smirk from Gabriel, he didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright hope you liked it!  
> This one was really fun to write and I felt like Alexandre Dumas, only I'm a teenager who obsesses over fictional characters and writes for strangers on the internet...  
> Okay maybe not Alexandre Dumas but whatever.  
> I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you have a nice day~


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